The love I have for you…

I love to hold you with eyes closed,

To tell you what you need to know:

*

If you couldn’t use your legs, I’d lend my legs to you.

“Oh darling, I can’t feel my feet, are all your sweet words true?”

As true as I,

I’ll lift you high.

All through the love I have for you.

*

If you were blind, I’d be your eyes to see all pretty things.

“Oh darling, I can’t see at all, why must you break my wings?”

I will tell,

Your beauty well!

All through the love I have for you.

*

If your hair twisted and fell out, I’d love you even more,

“Oh darling, my head feels so bald, is hair falling to the floor?”

I’ll shave off mine,

To match with thine!

All through the love I have for you.

*

“Darling please, I’m fading fast.

With your love I could not last.”

I can not stop my heart from song,

I’m almost done, it won’t be long.

*

If your sense of touch was gone, I’d hold you even more.

“But darling, How my body’s cold! You’re killing me, I’m sure!”

Don’t worry dear,

I hold you near!

All through the love I have for you.

*

If you hadn’t hands to kiss, I’d kiss you’re little stumps!

“But, darling while you say these things, my hands are falling off!”

Blood is pouring everywhere,

Like a victim of a bear!

All through the love I have for you…

*

I’m sorry that I dropped you, I didn’t realise!

“Darling, am I in my blood and hair and hands and eyes?”

Do not yelp!

I’ll get you help!

All through the love I have for you.

*

“Darling please, I’m fading fast.

With your love I will not last!”

I can’t undo what I’ve done wrong.

I’m almost done, it won’t be long.

*

If you should pass now into death, I’ll follow quickly too!

“Oh darling please stop talking, sweet words you say aren’t true!”

Ok, my love,

Fly as a dove…

The love I have for you is through.

*

I’d love to hold you with eyes closed,

To tell you what you need to know:

I did not really love you so.

For love is something that you show.

*

– Written by Randall Evans.

Mind Control

Beware the path of instant dread,

That easy stream inside your head.

Red herrings swoop and plague your brain,

“What could be? Is it me?

Conclusions falling cold as rain.

.

Infant thoughts so soft and small,

While waiting longer for a call.

Clawing, scratching, desperate plea.

“What to do? Not a clue!”

Don’t follow your anxiety.

.

Quenching thoughts of self destruction,

Will your way to their disruption.

Avoid the fall into the view,

“It’s all done! I’m no one!”

And choose to think anew.

.

All you do is all you can,

Your mind’s direction needs a plan,

To stop the worry based on myth.

“I was true. Tomorrow’s new.”

Control the voices you live with.

.

Written by Randall Evans

Gateway

Unexpected memory of a corridor
Voices roaring down the hall
A birthday held when I was four

Not for me, for the jolly good fellow.
An old man’s song if ever bellowed.
On a night that feels both mad and mellow.

I mused a moment, child’s mind,
Who were his friends there by his side?
They loved him then and so did I.

Lucky were the men back then,
To know my grandad as a friend,
Someone on which they could depend.

I wonder if he would be proud
If he had lived to see me now.
The singing voices growing loud…

He blew the candles on the cake
One day he lay and would not wake
Now floating down a gentle lake.

Nothing in this world will last
Our candles burn into the past
And shadow we no longer cast.

Unexpected memory of a corridor
Voices roaring down the hall
A birthday held at heaven’s door.

Written by Randall Evans

Rain

It was a cold miserable morning. The weather’s ice cold winds melted into my bones, yet I hadn’t even left the house. The rain fell all night without any hint of a cozy undertone.

The city was crowded with dreamless faces and deathly stares. The shelters were shoulder to shoulder with slow moving pedestrians that were showered with heavy drops that ran down the sides of buildings.

A few drops of rains and the trains are in chaos.

I hate it. I’m not a winter person, so this is ridiculious. I had to cross the city in the blistering cold to drop off an broken camera lens. Well, not just any lens, a Canon 70-200mm. It was my favourite lens. My baby. My livelihood.

At Wynyard I push past police, army vets, and a long line of corporate stiffs who are waiting to get into some event that I couldn’t care less about. Here is a question Sydney, why is so much of this overpriced city dependent on sunny skies? I didn’t have an umbrella and I felt every drop of the miserable, dirty rain.

Soaking wet, unhappy and ready to face the music. I bring out my lens.

“I’ll test it on my camera.”

The man checks the lens. I didn’t want to force it on my camera, but he has no trouble.

“It’s a bit tight…”

I thought it was too tight. But tell me, how is it?

“It seems OK. You’re a lucky man.”

I put my renewed hope back into my bag and head back to the office. Back through the crowds of zig-zagging people. Back across the roads where the red man overstays his welcome.

An alarm is going off in a building. I wonder why they were evacuated? There was a camera crew across the road. It’s funny how they still use massive rigs.

It’s now 2:00.

I work until 5:00.

A link is sent to my messenger.

MAN STABBED IN THE BACK OF THE NECK OUTSIDE WYNYARD STATION

Right outside my office. Right when I went for a walk.

Suddenly my attitude changed. The cold is just cold. The rain is just rain.

You never know when it’s your time.

Life is precious.

And I love the rain.

Written by Randall Evans.

***

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Silence

A week of trekking through torrential rain has my energy depleted, but as I turn my eyes to the sky I see her. The oldest tree in existence. I fall to my knees beneath the terrifying branches that hang over me like the pain of time pressing on my chest.

In my delirium I get to my feet and press through the sinking mud to the base of the great tree. The wind laments it’s warning in accelerated oscillations, throwing rain through the darkness, but it’s too late now. I’ve come too far.

I throw a rope around the oak. The creatures dwelling inside flee their home. The fear paints their faces with each lightning strike. I tie the rope and jump down from the tree.

It’s time.

I pull with all my might. The rain falls through the canopy. The rope burns my hands until they bleed. The deepest roots that hold the fabric of the universe together start to vibrate and quiver. They Scream, “Why? Why are you doing this?”

I squeeze my eyes shut, but I don’t stop pulling. As I use every single cell in my body to pull, it starts to end.

The world begins to slow in it’s spin. The roots start to tear through the surface of the earth, but they desperately cling to the ground like a child’s hand as she’s being dragged into torture.

The world slows even more…

I know what I’m doing, but I can’t stop. I’m looking for forgiveness as I’m committing the crime.

The wind and rain and lightning all form a harmonious plee in the last second of time until:

Silence.

The world’s stopped spinning.

In shame. In loneliness. I sit upon the centre of the universe. The great tree is nothing more.

Written by Randall Evans

***

Thanks for reading The Vile Mint. If I was able to spark your imagination, make you think or open your mind to new perspectives, please leave me a comment. I love hearing from readers and building relationships. God Bless.

Tinder & the Death of Romance

Tinder-logo

We live in an age of superficial sexual pleasures. An age where we confuse consequence with cause. Instead of attraction being an organic combination, selection of a partner is now determined by one thing. Looks. The swirling pool of flesh bombards the retinas without any imagination required.

Dating is a violent sport. Instead of being an exciting adventure in a particular stage of life, it’s become a layer of irritating vexations, test driving multiple vehicles at once with no intention of a purchase. It’s normal to see multiple people at once, all at various stages of the initial dating phase, which is typically somewhere near, or past, home base.

Where do we go in this confusion? It’s no longer a matter of finding a diamond in the rough, because the true authentic romantics don’t play by the new rule book. They open doors for one person, buy roses for one person, experience anxiety over one person and dance with one person. And if it doesn’t work out, they cry over one person.

How can anybody feel loss with so many replacement parts on the market? They can’t feel loss, they only feel lost over time. Time after time, date after date, they wonder why they feel so down. It’s not meant to be like this.

It’s not normal to play the field.

It’s not normal to base your attraction on what a potential partner looks like in a photo.

It’s not normal to use romance as a tool rather than expression.

Actually, all these things are normal… But it’s not right.

The world is filling up with the tears of those who feel alone. They have been stripped of their worth as what love once was has been replicated and twisted into technique and fabrication. When lust reigns supreme, will we remember what love felt like? Where has she gone? Love is shivering in the cold corner of the woods.

Lead her into the light. Be gentle and fearful of such beauty.

Love is patient… Love is kind.

Are you?

 

Written by Randall Evans

This is The Vile Mint.

Photo Challenge: Details

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Build your tower to the sky,
Foundations solid on the mire.
Yet, nature comes without straight lines.
No boxes, squares or strickt guidelines.

Curves that dance and sway and sing,
That help us dream up anything.
But, life is square for human beings,
Build by those with sight unseeing. 

“We’ll steal from nature! Then they’ll see!
One point 6 1 8 0 3
Square the office! Square the door!
Build the prison behind square walls!”

Bombarded by shapes that should not be!
We look around but do not see,
That the beauty that is in the leaf
Is chaotic, yet it breathes relief.

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– By Randall Evans.

Weekly Photo Challenge: Details